For Sammie
by Pickles
Summary: This is a more realistic fanfic than most -- including mine. Yohji gives different viewpoint on homosexuality than I generally portray him with, and the consequences leave him confused and unhappy. I'm thinking about a second part.


Hi. This isn't generally the kind of thing I write. It's damned depressing, and too true to life for my taste. It makes me hurt to read it, and realize that there are people out there like that, that die for absolutely no reason at all. If I haven't scared you off, read on, but be warned. This is not happy stuff.  
  
Warnings: original characters (SIX!!), deathfic (all six original characters – wait, aren't I supposed to like them?), depressing themes. Inspired by Henry Rollins, if that means anything to any of you.  
  
Two quotes to ponder, and my dedications go to… oh, God the girl, I guess, because she loaned me the book whose fault it is I wrote this.  
  
Quote One: The world spins backwards each day. – Cowboy Bebop (but I don't know who sang it)  
  
Quote Two: Men who don't want to be penetrated are lightweight and are in fear of intensity. – Unknown  
  
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For Sammie  
  
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I'm coming out of my favorite bar. I'm not drunk for once; I'm still sober, looking for some action. I see some of myself walking around, other playboys, other men that live for their cocks, other human poisons who kill the heart. But now we're all just getting drunk. Just guys getting trashed.  
  
I'm starting to unlock my car when I see them, two guys making out in the backseat of another car. Things are just starting to get hot and heavy, shirts just now coming off. It's not my thing usually, but I'm not one of those guys, those super-Christians who say that men who like other men are "abominations," or one of those men who aren't Christian, but are just scared to shit that these guys might be onto something. I watch for a few minutes, fascinated by how different the process is if it's another guy. Then I get in my car, and get ready to leave, wondering about what it would feel like. I'm not into that, but I can see how a guy could be – your boyfriend would know all the right things to do to you.  
  
Anyway, I've turned my car on and I'm getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when about four of these guys walk by. Four guys, nothing special, probably got names like Bud and Bill and Joe and Dan and have jobs like plumbers and construction workers and a wife and two kids at home. They walk by, and they see the guys. I figure, you know, they're just guys, they'll walk away, maybe be grossed out or maybe wonder about it like I do or maybe be turned on just a little, but they'll move on to the next bar like they're supposed to. They don't. One of them points at the two men in the car – they're going at it hard now, the windows are fogging – and they all start jeering, like they're all fucking teenagers in high school, and they have to make fun of everything different. I figure, well, they'll leave it at that, they'll walk away. They don't. One of them opens the backseat door and they all start yelling at the guys – one's completely in the nude, and they had been in the process of stripping the other guy – shit like "You fucking fags should keep it in the closet," and shit like that. I figure, you know, they'll stop there, they'll realize what stupid fucks they're being, they'll walk away. They don't. They pull the guys out of the car, one of them completely naked, the other with his pants down around his ankles. They start beating the shit out of these guys, you know, kicking and punching. One of them cracks a beer bottle against the parking lot asphalt.  
  
I figure it's time to get out of my car and lend these guys a hand.  
  
The guy with the beer bottle makes a swing at the shoulder of one of the guys who was in the car. The other guy must really have it bad for him, because he moves his head in the way and takes the bottle straight in the forehead. He passes out, and starts bleeding all over the place. The other guy says, real loud, "Sammie!" He puts his arms around the other guy and tries to protect him from more. These kids, they must be really in love. It's not fair to ruin something like that, even if they weren't straight.  
  
I walk up to the bastards who are beating the shit out of these kids, and I pull my garroting wire out of my watch as I go. One of these shitheads turns around and sees me. "You're so fucking scared of every single person who's different, aren't you," I snarl. He charges at me. I slit his throat easy, no problems. The second guy makes a rush for me. "You're so worried that you might be wrong," I tell him as I open his gut, his entrails spilling messily onto the asphalt of the parking lot. "I'm the Sin of Justice – I do her dirty work for her, I tell the third as he turns to look at me in surprise. I strangle him quickly with my wire. "And guys like you make me enjoy my work," I say finally to the fourth one as he tries to get away. I slide the wire around his neck, and sever the man's nerve line to his brain.  
  
I bend to the two kids on the ground. "You okay?" I ask them. The one underneath the other, with his arms wrapped around the one who took the headshot, nods shakily. The guy who took the bottle, Sammie, doesn't respond. I check for a pulse. None. I look at the kid – he can't be more than nineteen – and shake my head. I don't really want to tell him that the one he loves is dead.  
  
"No," he whispers. He looks at his young, dead lover in his arms. "Sammie, you can't be dead. Sam, this is supposed to be our two-year anniversary. Sammie, wake up!"  
  
I stand up, and I am struck by the sight around me. Here I am with this kid on the ground, going hysterical about his boyfriend being dead. We're surrounded by death, most of it inflicted by myself. I killed these guys. I killed Bud and Bill and Joe and Dan, the construction workers and the plumbers. Their families won't get to see them any more. These guys weren't regular criminals; they had wives and kids. They just were scared of something different. Did they have to die? Did I have to kill them?  
  
But what about Sammie? Did he have to die because he was different? What right did they have to kill him, to judge him? What right did we have?  
  
I crossed a line tonight. This wasn't for the good guys. This is the kind of line that gets blurrier and blurrier every time you cross it, until finally you don't even know where it is anymore. I hope I don't cross it again. I hope that kid is okay. I wish I hadn't done this. I wish this hadn't happened. Now Sammie is a martyr to the local gay community, and these guys are just murder victims. I wonder what story Sammie's boy is going to tell. I have to disappear and stay faceless now, for longer than usual. No one checked these guys out. No one made sure they were the bad guys. No one made sure they'd done bad things. I judged and played executioner tonight. That's a decision I don't have a right to make. I wish I hadn't been forced to. I wish I wasn't the reason that some wife is going to have to tell her kids, "Sorry boys, but Daddy's not coming home tonight."  
  
I need to go find something stronger than booze to help me forget tonight.  
  
This one was for you, Sammie.  
  
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Oi. This was depressing. Too realistic for me. Review… I think I want you to, that is…  
  
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End file.
